


When You Nod Your Head Yes (But You Wanna Say No)

by taetaetiger (sexyvanillatiger)



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Angst, Bad Flirting, Friends to Lovers, Frottage, Humor, M/M, Old Friends, Oral Sex, Reunions, Romance, Tsunderes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-29
Updated: 2015-12-29
Packaged: 2018-05-10 05:41:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5573014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sexyvanillatiger/pseuds/taetaetiger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: "Yixing promised to meet his childhood friend Yifan after years of separation at the park where they once vowed their love for each other. He didn't expect shy, sweet, and fat Yifan to be this gorgeous...and cocky."</p>
            </blockquote>





	When You Nod Your Head Yes (But You Wanna Say No)

**Author's Note:**

> Secret Santa fic for the wonderful [Karina](http://yee-xeeng.tumblr.com/)! Cross-posted from LJ.

Ever since Jongdae first learned the passcode to Yixing's phone many years ago, he's answered Yixing's calls when Yixing is too far away or too busy to do so himself. Sometimes it's because he's a good friend, sometimes it's because he's a bad friend, and sometimes it's just out of habit. He hardly even checks the caller identification any more because he _is_ the caller identification; it's his self-appointed burden. He answers the phone and hands it off after a brief introduction from the inquiring party. Usually, it's Yixing's family. Sometimes it's the parent of a child at his dance studio. Even rarer, it's a pursuit for a date. Jongdae is well-versed in which calls to pass along and which to end abruptly.

Needless to say, he's very good at this job. Even though Yixing whines a lot whenever his phone starts ringing and Jongdae gets to it before he can, they both appreciate the good he does. There are a lot of crazy things in the world that Yixing should not ever be subjected to. So when Jongdae picks up the phone one day without checking the caller's number, he shouldn't be surprised by the deep, rumbling tones of a stranger's voice asking him for Yixing.

"Who's calling?" he asks indifferently. Yixing glances up from the skillet he's watching, but only briefly. Jongdae has this one handled, stranger or not.

"Wu Yifan. Is this Yixing?"

"This is his phone," Jongdae answers before covering the receiver with his hand. "Do you know a Wu Yifan?" he calls over into the kitchen. Yixing tilts his head to the side and runs his wooden spoon through the stir fry.

"I don't remember a Yifan," he finally says, spooning out a hot snow pea to munch on.

"Are you sure you have the right number?" Jongdae asks into the phone once more, even though this Yifan asked for Yixing specifically. "He doesn't remember a Yifan."

There's a poignant pause where Jongdae actually looks at the phone screen to make sure that Yifan hasn't hung up. Yixing peers over, but Jongdae gestures back to their food, which in Yixing's hands could be on the cusp of destruction any minute now. Finally, Yifan speaks again, sounding a bit confused and maybe even hurt.

"He doesn't remember me?" Jongdae frowns, opening his mouth to speak even though he has no idea what to say, when Yifan breathes out a frantic, " _Oh my god_ ," and laughs. "Sorry, oh my god. I forgot—I changed my name, he wouldn't—Jiaheng. It's Li Jiaheng."

Jongdae's stomach drops when he hears it. _Jiaheng_. He barks out an excited laugh, yanking Yixing's attention from the stir-fry, and he waves him over quickly. "It's Li Jiaheng," he says, holding the receiver away from his mouth even though Jiaheng can probably hear what he's saying from there. Yixing gasps, drops his wooden spoon, and scrambles to wrest the phone from Jongdae's hands. In their struggle to pass it off, they almost drop it, but Jongdae saves it at the last minute and puts it on speaker before handing it over to Yixing, who crows with excitement.

"Jiaheng?" he asks, dimple pressed deep into his cheek as he grins.

"Yixing?" Jiaheng sounds hopeful, like hearing his name from Yixing's lips after all these years has stolen his breath; Jongdae thinks he understands. Fifteen years after being separated, Yixing still says Jiaheng's name with the reverence of a fabled lover. Yixing is no less affected, bouncing on his feet like it's Christmas morning, and Jongdae is just surprised to hear their old friends' voice again.

"Jiaheng!" Yixing exclaims, seeming to have forgotten his entire vocabulary with the sole exception of Jiaheng's name. "What are you—where—how did you get my number?" he asks finally.

"Your grandmother gave it to my mother." The longer Jongdae listens, the less he honestly believes that he's hearing Jiaheng. His voice is too deep, too smooth, too—confident, if he's being honest with himself. But Yixing pays no mind to it, humming his understanding.

"This is crazy, it's been so long," he says. "What are you doing? Why—" He cuts himself off, but Jongdae can see the question he wants to ask. Why now, after all these years?

"I'm moving back," Jiaheng says shortly, simply. Yixing's jaw drops and he looks up at Jongdae, who supposes it's appropriate. This _is_ the boy Yixing had been convinced he was going to marry when they got older, up until the very day that Jiaheng moved away with his mom. "I know it's a lot to ask, especially with the holidays coming up, but I was wondering if I could ask for a ride from the airport? It'd be really nice to see you again after—"

"Yes," Yixing cuts in, his smile cutting hard into his face now. "Yes, of course, just—just text me the day and the time and, you know, your gate. You have my cell number, so…"

After a brief pause, Jiaheng huffs out a small, relieved laugh, and says, "Yeah. I will. Okay, I should probably get to bed, it's…oh no, it's almost two—okay, I have to go, but I'll text you everything in the morning, okay?"

"Okay." Yixing smiles as they trade farewells and hands the phone back to Jongdae, wringing his hands just to give them something to do. Jongdae places the phone back down on the kitchen table, his smile feeding on amusement as he watches Yixing get more and more worked up until he's practically jumping up and down in place. They laugh together, embracing, and as Yixing rests his head on Jongdae's shoulder, Jongdae asks him,

"Did you turn the stove off?"

The smell of burning food begins to seep from the kitchen; the shrill cry of the fire alarm will soon be on its heels. Yixing startles, bounding back to his post with a defeated-sounding, "Aiyo- _wei_ …"

 

Yixing tries to conceptualize fifteen years as he lays in bed that night. He counts it out on his fingers, and then in his head, he counts out the months in the years, and then the weeks in the months. Fifteen years, by his count, is more than long enough to forget somebody, especially somebody he only knew as a child. And yet, Yixing thinks he may never forget the last day he saw Li Jiaheng, fifteen years ago. He remembers not crying until two days later, when he wanted to play with his best friend and was forced to realize what moving away really meant. He'd gone to the library to figure out how far away Canada was, and then he'd cried a bit more.

Yixing rolls onto his back and stares up at his ceiling. The city hums outside, the darkness there glowing against the deeper darkness of his bedroom. Jongdae is snoring across the hall, which will probably keep Yixing awake when he is actually ready to fall asleep. He would normally be asleep now, but Yixing can't stop thinking about how seventeen years ago, Li Jiaheng lowered himself onto one knee and asked Zhang Yixing to marry him. It was only a game back then, but Yixing can't remember his heart ever beating harder, can't remember being more ready to live for anyone but Li Jiaheng in that moment. Seventeen years and a wealth of dating experience later, he maintains that assertion.

But two years after the playful proposal, Jiaheng was gone. Whenever Yixing missed him too acutely, his mother would tell him it was for the best, what happened to the Li family. Yixing thinks he understands what she meant from how he and Jiaheng never played at Jiaheng's house. How the few times Yixing visited, he was almost paralyzed by the unhappiness, thick like carbon monoxide, waiting for a spark. Yixing only ever heard Jiaheng's parents fighting once, and it was with his back turned as the two of them fled through the back door.

That day was sixteen years ago, by which time Yixing is sure that Mrs. Li had already been planning on leaving. How long did she know she would be taking her son with her before Yixing was forced to say goodbye? His eyes prickle and flood, hot against the chilled air of his bedroom.

Fifteen years later, here he is. Laying in bed, staring at his ceiling, imagining Jiaheng's dark hair and plump face. His kind, loving eyes, and his gentle way of speaking. Even now, Yixing is certain he would be the perfect husband. Encouraging, submissive, quiet, kind.

Yixing's heart races for his friend, even though he's only been asked for a ride from the airport. He frowns. What if Jiaheng doesn't remember what they were supposed to have together, or has since dismissed it as childhood foolishness? What if Jiaheng has changed? What if he has a partner already? What if he doesn't even like boys anymore? Yixing rolls over, curling his pillow up around his face. Jongdae snorts loudly across the hall, and Yixing slips out of bed to go turn him onto his side.

He pushes at Jongdae's shoulder, planning on turning him in his sleep and leaving him be, but Jongdae stirs, latching onto Yixing's wrist and tugging him into bed. Yixing crawls alongside his friend, sighing heavily. Jongdae lifts one heavy lid, asking him, "What?"

"Do you think…that Jiaheng…," he starts, but doesn't finish. _Remembers me? Likes me? Loves me?_ He could be asking any of them. Jongdae opens both of his eyes and blinks owlishly.

"Mmm…yes. Probably." He yawns and rolls over to his side of the bed. "Is that all? Go to sleep, Xing."

Yixing stares at Jongdae's back and thinks, _Easier said than done_ , even as his eyes droop and his breaths even and he slips into sleep.

 

Zitao and Lu Han come over on a Monday afternoon to help Jongdae and Yixing put their tree up. It comes out of the very back storage closet in the apartment, packed deep into the cluttered walk-in, and every year it takes more than two people to pull it out and get it up. Zitao and Yixing, the strongest of the four of them, crawl back behind the closet's maze of boxes, storage tubs, and misplaced camping supplies. Together, they manage to heft the box up and through the clutter just enough for Lu Han and Jongdae, the wilier pair, to extract it completely.

While Lu Han and Jongdae set up the pre-lit tree, stacking each third and connecting the strings of lights, Zitao and Yixing dig through the closet to find the ornaments. It involves a lot of unboxing and re-boxing, and pledges that next year, _next year_ they'll label everything before putting it back.

That being said, Lu Han and Jongdae have long since finished putting the tree together by the time Zitao and Yixing emerge with boxes of decorations. The sun has set, and the CD player is warm with old Christmas music, and it's much later than it should be when they're only just starting to string tinsel around the tree and along the entertainment center. Zitao places candy tins and knick knacks around the apartment, and after a while of working only to the sound of Christmas music, he says to Yixing,

"Jongdae said you got a phone call last week."

Yixing looks up from the ornament he's hanging, trying to decide on the slightly higher branch or the slightly lower branch, and he throws a glare at Jongdae for talking behind his back. "He did," Jongdae says, not perturbed in the slightest. To Yixing, he says, "I already told them everything, so you might as well talk about it."

"Is he really coming back, ge?" Zitao asks, his eyes hopeful as he skirts around the edge of the Christmas tree to move some of the ornaments. Yixing tries to shoo him away, but Zitao defiantly shoos him back and continues to mess with the tree.

"Yes, he is," Yixing huffs, throwing his plush bunny ornament at Zitao; Zitao catches it and places it delicately on a low branch. It looks much better there than where Yixing tried to put it. "He's coming back from Canada for his work. I'm picking him up at the airport this week. That's all I have."

Zitao hums, moving some of the tinsel up a bit. He steps back to admire his interventions, his smile pleased when he's finished. "How are you going to pick him up?" he asks, digging through the box for the star. As the tallest of the four of them, he gets the honor every year.

"I don't know. I'll get a cab," Yixing says, slumping onto the couch beside Lu Han and Jongdae, who have since turned over the apartment decoration to Yixing and Zitao.

"What's the point in picking him up in a cab? He could get one of those himself." Yixing frowns, opening his mouth to object because maybe the point of Yixing picking Jiaheng up is that it's going to be Yixing and Jiaheng together again for the first time in fifteen years, but Zitao talks right over him. "Let me go with you. We can take my car."

Impulsively, Yixing wants to say no. He wants to say it so badly that the word is on the tip of his tongue, trickling out as a low, dissatisfied groan. Zitao's car is actually very nice; it's a reasonable car, perhaps the only part of Zitao that is explicitly reasonable, and it's always clean and it always has gas. It would be a much warmer welcome than the back of some dirty, impersonal cab picked up from the line at the airport. Besides, surely Jiaheng would be excited to see Zitao in addition to Yixing. It's not as though Yixing was his only friend.

Yixing gut clenches, and he bites his lip. He still wants to say no. What he says instead is, "Fine. You need to come pick me up early, though. I don't want to keep him waiting."

Zitao practically squeals with excitement. Lu Han scowls. "Why do you two get to go pick him up? We were his friends, too."

"No," Yixing says with finality, and it feels good. "We can all welcome him after he gets home from the airport, but we're not taking a whole crowd to pick him up." Jongdae nods his agreement, murmuring his assent, and for once, Yixing is glad to have his support. In the corner, Zitao turns on the lights on the newly-finished tree, and he flips off all other lights in the apartment before squeezing himself onto the couch beside the rest of them. He puts his head on Yixing's shoulder and asks,

"Does he still want to marry you?"

"Oh my god—"

"I think the question is whether or not Yixing still wants to marry _him_ ," Jongdae interjects with a kittenish grin.

Zitao looks up at him. "Do you not?"

Yixing squirms beneath the attention, even Lu Han looking over with a mischievous smirk on his face. He picks at his fingernails, shrugging and huffing out a short, "How should I know?" which ends up being the worst answer he could have given them. Like sharks who have scented blood, they swarm.

"Oh my god," Lu Han says. "You're still in love with Li Jiaheng. What happened, is he good looking now?"

"What?" Yixing barks. "What does that have to do with anything? I don't know what he looks like now."

"Oh, well I hope he meets your standards!" Lu Han laughs, delighting in the frustration on Yixing's face, and Zitao wraps his arms around Yixing to keep him from jumping out of his seat and onto Lu Han.

"Could we look him up on Weibo?"

Yixing shrugs, sinking back into his seat. "I don't know if he has one. He lives in Canada." One of the bulbs on the Christmas tree flickers, but it doesn't go out. Yixing stares at it instead of looking at his friends. "Plus, he changed his name. I don't remember what he said it was…" Yixing glances towards Jongdae, who just shrugs and shakes his head. "Wu Fan? Or something?"

"He changed his name?" Zitao sits up, cocking his head to the side. "But why? Jiaheng was a good name."

"He didn't tell me why," Jongdae says, "he just told me that he changed his name, so Yixing probably wouldn't recognize him."

The room falls silent then, and Yixing wonders if everybody else is reminiscing about Jiaheng the way he is. He watches the glimmer of the tree, the way the shinier ornaments catch the light and scatter it along the walls of the apartment. He wonders if he was curled up to Jiaheng the way he's curled up against Zitao right now, what would that feel like? Is he still short and soft? Are his hugs still warm from how completely they envelope Yixing? Do his eyes still smile shyly when his lips are too timid to do so themselves?

Lu Han threads their fingers together after a while, and Yixing lets him strokes his thumb back and forth across Yixing's knuckles. "Maybe you've been so shallow all these years because you've been waiting for him to come home," he mumbles when it seems like Jongdae and Zitao have fallen asleep. Yixing doesn't think it's a compliment, but he's sure Lu Han means it like one.

"Yah, everyone is so worried about me dating him," he huffs. "We don't even know what he's like anymore."

Lu Han turns his head just enough to see Yixing out of the corner of his eye, and he quirks his lips wryly. "You must have forgotten what you guys where like when you were kids," he says, and then he leaves it at that. Only when Yixing squeezes his hand and begs him to explain does he sigh and continue. "You always said that you two were going to love each other forever. And you _meant_ it, too." He shuffles around until he’s pushed a sleeping Jongdae off to the side. He curls up against Yixing, making shapes with their joined hands. "I think you'll probably be surprised how much you'll still love him, even if he has changed. Just knowing you. I mean, you _have_ been waiting for him."

"You keep saying that…," Yixing mumbles, but he doesn't protest it outright. Lu Han falls asleep against his side, Zitao sleeps curled around him, and Jongdae sleeps against the far arm of the couch. Yixing is the last one awake, and he stares at the window beyond the Christmas tree, out onto the balcony and beyond towards the rest of the city. Jiaheng is coming back, and it feels right. Like something he's been lacking is finally being returned to him. Maybe Lu Han is right. Maybe he has been waiting.

 

Jiaheng's flight is in one week. Or more, it's in six days, but it rounds up until it's just about a week later, and Yixing has to cancel his evening classes to make it to the airport on time. When his students’ parents inquire, he tries to frame it as a gift of time in the busy holiday season, but that doesn't keep the grin off of his face as he's closing up after afternoon lessons. Zitao is already waiting for him in the parking lot, the engine running to keep the car warm, and Yixing ushers the last students over to their parents before rushing to the passenger side of Zitao's car.

"Don't you want to sit in the back?" Zitao asks, even though he's already putting the car in gear and backing out of his parking space. "You know, so you can sit next to him?"

Yixing smiles sweetly at him. "Do you want to be my chauffeur?" he teases. Zitao whines a displeased ge at him before Yixing quiets down. "It's fine. Even if I do want to sit next to him, I can move to the back when we get there."

Zitao hums in response. He passes Yixing the auxiliary cord, giving him the illusion that he gets to decide the music they listen to. Yixing picks music that he knows Zitao will like, just so they don't squabble over it on the drive to the airport. It's not a far drive, but in traffic, it becomes a long one. Yixing checks the time compulsively, even as Zitao continuously assures him they'll still be early, even at this rate. Resigned to believing his friend, Yixing rests uncomfortably against the window, staring out into the highway beyond with worries clawing at his mind. Zitao turns the music up and doesn't force him to talk about what he's thinking.

The airport is crowded when they get to it; too many cars trying to pick up too many passengers flying in for the holidays. They wait in line to approach the pick-up lane, and only by some sort of luck and a little bit of Zitao's resilience do they steal a parking spot. He volunteers to stay with the car, sending Yixing in to keep an eye out for Jiaheng (Yixing doesn't say it out loud, but he thinks he would have liked to see Zitao try to keep Yixing from being the first to greet Jiaheng in his return from Canada).

Jiaheng's flight landed thirty minutes ago, but Yixing hasn't heard anything from him since then. He holds onto his phone as he pushes through the busy room, people swarming around luggage carousels and fighting past one another to retrieve carts and loved ones. Yixing tries to make himself as small as possible, standing to himself, as far away from anything important or crowded as he can get. He checks his phone repeatedly, to no new results. In fact, he's close to calling Jiaheng, just to make sure he's alright, when he's startled from behind.

"Hey, cutie."

The deep voice is hot on the sensitive skin of his ear, and Yixing jumps, almost dropping his phone to the ground. Someone laughs behind him, and Yixing whirls around, trying not to look too disgusted with the man when he says, "I'm waiting for someone." Silently, the man stands to his full height, hands in his pockets, hips and brow cocked. He looks like he's waiting, too. Yixing frowns, looking him hard in the face, and he gasps. "Fan?"

"The one and only."

"Oh my god." Yixing covers his mouth the moment it comes out, his eyes wide as they travel the full extent of Jiaheng's body in disbelief. This is not little Jiaheng from their childhood. This is not little Jiaheng at all. Yixing bows in greeting, probably deeper than he should, flushed with embarrassment. Jiaheng—no, Wu Fan, laughs at him, bowing playfully in return.

"You've grown up well," he says, his eyes roaming. Yixing can't tell if Wu Fan is looking him up, or if his eyes are always that dark and sultry. They certainly weren't when they were children.

"You—you too," Yixing stammers, still reeling from the shock. The last time he had seen Wu Fan, his face had been round like the moon. Not that most children don't have round faces, but Wu Fan's was…rounder. And softer. And he wasn't this tall, and his hair wasn't blond, and he never smirked like that. Yixing loses himself in Wu Fan's eyes, startling when Wu Fan chuckles, ducking his head in a very coordinated way. Like he's not actually embarrassed at all to catch Yixing staring at him.

That just makes Yixing blush harder. He clears his throat, stowing his phone in his pocket and suggesting that they go grab Wu Fan's luggage. Wu Fan just indicates to the suitcase sitting at his feet, and he tells Yixing that the rest of his things will be arriving at his apartment later in the week. "But I appreciate you worrying about me," he says, his eyes moving over Yixing in a _very_ appreciative way.

"Oh," Yixing mumbles, staring hard at the suitcase so that he doesn't stare at Wu Fan. "Then, I guess we can go get in the car. Taozi is waiting for us."

"Tao's here? God, it's been so long," Wu Fan says, though his eyes never stray from Yixing.

"Well, I mean. I don't have a car, so he…we took his," Yixing explains. "Do you want me to—oh," he mumbles, reaching for Wu Fan's suitcase only to have it pulled away from him. Wu Fan smiles, reaching over to push Yixing's hair out of his eyes.

"I can carry it," he says, turning and leaving Yixing standing frozen in his spot. Wu Fan only glances back when it's obvious that Yixing is not following him, and he asks, "Where’s Zitao's car?"

Yixing snaps to attention with a startled gasp, hurrying ahead to lead Wu Fan out to where Zitao is waiting for them. Wu Fan follows close behind, so close he and Yixing bump arms every once in awhile, glancing at each other and then looking away quickly. _Jiaheng?_ Yixing thinks. _Is this really him?_ He entertains the thought that he might be dreaming, but all the same, he opens the passenger side door when they find Zitao's car and asks him to pop the trunk. Zitao leans over, frowning up at the tall, tall man standing behind him. _Me too_ , Yixing thinks when he sees the look on Zitao's face. _I thought so, too._

"Who's this?" Zitao asks slowly, looking back to Yixing. Yixing flushes and starts to answer, but Wu Fan is quicker, bending over and leaning against the open car like a movie star. Yixing's breath vanishes from his lungs, leaving his mouth dry and airless as he watches those long lines arc in elegant ways.

"You don't recognize me?" Wu Fan asks, his eyes mysterious and playful in a way that they have never been in the time Yixing has known him. He stares, hardly believing that they could belong to Jiaheng. When he looks to Zitao, he sees the same doubt. This can't be him.

But beneath that pale, smooth face, trapped somewhere in those long limbs, hidden within that slim frame, this is their friend. Silently and obediently, Zitao pops the trunk. Yixing slides into the passenger seat heavily, staring off as his shock sets in. Zitao shakes him back into the moment.

" _Is that really him?_ " Zitao hisses, his eyes continuously flitting back to Wu Fan through the rearview mirror. Yixing just nods mutely. Zitao most certainly has more to say, but he leans back into his seat respectfully as Wu Fan dips into the back. He moves so gracefully, a world of difference from his clumsy handling of himself in childhood. Yixing closes his eyes against an unbearable wave of want. Nobody says anything for a moment, and Yixing realizes he should be the one to speak.

"Where are we taking you?" he asks.

Wu Fan's eyes are hungry, dark, intentional when he says, "Wherever." Or maybe they're not. Yixing flutters with doubt, glancing over the shoulder of his seat back at Wu Fan and then quickly away with a blush. Zitao watches him knowingly, and Yixing thinks for the first time that maybe he _should_ have sent Lu Han and Jongdae instead. Lu Han, certainly, could deal with this new, sexy Jiaheng. Yixing, by comparison, falls victim to it.

After receiving some direction, Zitao takes them to Wu Fan’s new apartment. On the drive, he gives Yixing ample opportunity to monopolize Wu Fan’s attention, but Yixing doesn’t know how. He sits silently, not even sure of himself enough to look back into the back seat and smile at Wu Fan. In his silent failure, Zitao takes control, asking Wu Fan about Canada and his high school and his basketball team ( _Jiaheng? A basketball player? Yixing could laugh at the thought_ ), about his Weibo ( _Wu Fan doesn’t have a Weibo, but he would get one if Yixing has one_ ) and his dog, who is now staying with his mother ( _wasn’t Jiaheng allergic to dogs? Or was he just scared of them?_ ).

In fact, Zitao and Wu Fan are so immersed in their conversation that Wu Fan almost forgets to direct Zitao into the correct parking lot, and they have to make a hairpin turn to keep from catching the curb. Zitao and Wu Fan laugh in exhilaration; Yixing glances back at Wu Fan, wondering when he got so daring.

“Hey,” Wu Fan says finally, very close to Yixing. When Yixing turns around, Wu Fan is there, leaning forward to grasp the head of his seat. His hand touches Yixing’s neck as he does. Yixing shudders and leans forward. “I haven’t heard much from you. Why don’t you come up with me real quick?” he offers.

Yixing balks and looks to Zitao, who has the most triumphant look on his face. “What?” Yixing squeaks out.

Wu Fan smiles, or maybe he smirks. Yixing can’t tell the difference. “Didn’t you want to help me with my suitcase?” he asks.

Yixing’s mouth goes so dry that all he can do is nod silently. Zitao unlocks the car, pops the trunk, and settles in with a smug smile. To Yixing’s dismay, he can see Zitao pulling out his phone as soon as he and Wu Fan head towards the apartment building. It’s a nice building, new-looking, and Wu Fan has to punch in a code so that they can enter. He pulls a slip of paper with some numbers scribbled on it out of his back pocket; Yixing’s attention narrows to the pleasant curve of Wu Fan’s ass. Wu Fan turns around, and much as Yixing would love to continue to stare, he looks up, hoping that he hasn’t been caught. It’s hard to tell, because Wu Fan has looked like the cat who caught the canary since they picked him up. He’s holding the door open, smiling down at Yixing ( _down at him, because he’s taller than Yixing now_ ), and Yixing busies himself trying to take Wu Fan’s suitcase; Wu Fan still doesn’t let him.

 _Why did you bring me if you won’t let me do anything_ , he thinks but doesn’t say. Wu Fan doesn’t even let him trail behind, instead allowing Yixing to lead the way up the stairs to the fourth floor. At least if Wu Fan were in front, Yixing would be able to stare at his ass a little more. But like this, Wu Fan could be staring at _his_ ass—

Startled, Yixing glances over his shoulder abruptly to find that Wu Fan’s eyes are, indeed, roaming. Yixing is so surprised that he trips on the next step, stumbling but ultimately catching himself before it can get too embarrassing. When he looks back at Wu Fan again, Wu Fan’s gummy smile is wide in amusement. “Are you alright?” he asks. Yixing grunts wordlessly in reply.

Wu Fan’s apartment is halfway down the hall, and he lets Yixing enter before him. The rooms are empty, the walls bare, and Yixing wonders what Wu Fan will be doing until his furniture comes. He wants to ask, but his voice is slower than Wu Fan, who disappears into a hallway, off to what Yixing assumes must be the bedroom. “Yah, I found it,” Wu Fan calls back to him, and Yixing takes the initiative to follow him into the back.

“Found what?” Yixing asks when he steps into the room, awed by its size and height—the sloped ceiling giving it room for a giant like Wu Fan—but also by its emptiness.

“This,” Wu Fan says, gesturing to the room around them. He’s smiling a gummy smile, a natural smile, one that Yixing almost recognizes. “I found my bedroom.”

“Oh…?” Yixing cocks his head to the side and looks around. “Did you…not know where it was?”

Wu Fan’s smile fades into something complacent, pleased. “No. This is my first time being here, too.” Yixing’s eyebrows jump in his surprise, and he looks around again, sharing the splendor of a brand new bedroom with Wu Fan. “My manager had this all set up last week so that when I got here, I wouldn’t be staying in a hotel. I should have told him to grab an air mattress while he was at it,” Wu Fan teases, kneeling to unzip his suitcase.

“Oh,” Yixing gasps, turning around in the room and realizing abruptly that Wu Fan has nothing to sleep on tonight. “Do you—how—what,” he starts inarticulately, stopping short when he sees Wu Fan laughing at him behind his big hand. Yixing flushes, but marches on. “If you need somewhere to sleep, you could come back with me?” he offers. It sounds meek, like a question, but it’s there.

Wu Fan appraises Yixing, watching him with his beautiful head cocked to the side. “Yeah?” he asks, sounding interested. Yixing nods. Of course he would offer his bed to an old friend. Besides, he’s slept on that living room couch probably as much as he’s slept in his own bedroom. It’d be no problem for him to let Wu Fan sleep in his— “Would we share a bed like we used to?”

Yixing blinks. Was that…intention in Wu Fan’s voice? Was Wu Fan… _flirting_ with him? Yixing blushes, opening his mouth to speak and not thinking of anything quick enough to do so. Wu Fan laughs at him, out loud this time, and Yixing snaps his mouth shut, his arousal burning up into irritation so fast it boils under his skin. “We have a couch you could sleep on,” he snaps petulantly. Wu Fan looks surprised, but not disappointed. A tense silence passes between them in which Yixing feels very tense and Wu Fan doesn’t look tense at all.

The moment dissipates when Wu Fan waves the suggestion away. “I’ll be fine. I have some shopping to do before the end of the night, anyways. I’ll pick up a sleeping bag while I’m out.” He pauses in ruffling through his bag for a moment to look up at Yixing from below his lashes. “Thank you, though.” Yixing shivers, his stomach curling. He nods and falls silent once more.

Wu Fan doesn’t take long to find what he’s looking for. He comes up with a wallet and a nice jacket; when he slides it on, he looks several hundred dollars more unattainable to Yixing, almost like the men he sees in magazines. Paper smiles, paper hair, paper women on their arms. Wu Fan in that jacket looks like that. Yixing sighs, frowning as he searches for his best friend. He was certain he saw Jiaheng in there just a moment ago.

“Is Zitao waiting on you?” Wu Fan asks, breaking Yixing’s reverie.

“Oh—yes,” Yixing gasps, immediately checking his phone. Nothing. He looks back at Wu Fan, who is watching him. “I should probably…before he…”

Wu Fan smiles. “Of course. Let’s walk down together.”

Yixing nods, letting Wu Fan lead the way this time. His leather jacket cuts off inches above his impeccable ass, and Yixing stares for as long as he’s allowed to. Down in the parking lot, darkness has fallen and snow is beginning to collect on the pavement. Yixing offers Wu Fan a ride to the nearest supermarket, but Wu Fan waves him off.

“I’ll walk; I’ve got to re-learn this city, anyways. Good-bye, Yixing. I’ll text you tomorrow.”

Yixing smiles for what feels like the first time tonight. Wu Fan freezes when he sees it, and Yixing’s stomach erupts in a mayhem of butterflies. “Okay. Tomorrow, then, Jiaheng.”

Wu Fan’s eyebrows raise, and he laughs shortly. “Yifan,” he corrects, his voice gentle. Yixing blushes. Yifan. He’d been so close. He nods and waves and watches Yifan’s back turn and disappear into the frosted night. When he gets back to the car, Zitao turns to Yixing with an expectant look.

“Well?”

“Well, what?”

Zitao visibly deflates, his mouth curling in a sneer. “What do you mean, _well what_? _Well_ , what happened?”

Yixing shrugs. “He showed me his apartment. It’s empty. He’s going to text me tomorrow.”

Zitao frowns. “That’s it?” Yixing is about to ask what that’s it is supposed to mean when Zitao continues, “You guys didn’t do anything else?”

Yixing blushes so hard his face feels like it’s on fire. “ _Zitao_!” he scolds, rolling his window down to let some cold air in. Zitao rolls the window back up and puts the car in gear. Yixing resigns himself to his seat, doing battle with his seatbelt instead of his dumb friend. When Zitao pulls out onto the road, Yixing tells him, “Why would we—? Of course we didn’t _do anything else_! He just got back.”

“Yeah,” Zitao says, “and he was giving you The Eyes the whole drive over. And then! And then, he invited you up to his apartment!”

“His _empty_ apartment. What were we supposed to do, make out on the floor?”

Zitao eyes Yixing from the side, a smile curling at his lips. “Oh, are you talking about making out with him Yixing? I was just talking about a good-bye kiss.” Yixing flushes even deeper and sinks into his seat miserably. “Seems like someone’s been thinking about this.”

“Shut up,” Yixing begs, and to his eternal relief, Zitao obeys. Until they get home.

“He botched it,” Zitao announced grandly as they enter the apartment. Jongdae’s head pops around the corner to the kitchen, a disapproving frown on his face.

“Botched what?”

“Yifan asked Yixing to come up to his apartment, and nothing happened. He didn’t even talk to him the whole ride over.” Yixing is reaching up, trying to cover Zitao’s mouth, but Zitao is taller than him, and even though Yixing is stronger, Zitao is strong enough. He is unsuccessful in silencing his terrible friend.

“What does he mean you didn’t talk at all on the ride over?” Jongdae has his hands on his hips, a pair of tongs held in his grip, and Yixing worries that his failures will bring about the ruin of tonight’s dinner. He tries to say so, reaching out to take the tongs from Jongdae, but instead of handing them over, Jongdae slaps him with them. “No, Yixing, first you tell me what he meant.”

Yixing digs the heels of his hands into his eyes in his frustration, groaning. “He’s _hot_ , okay? And cocky, and—and flirty, and I didn’t know what to say!”

Jongdae blinks, glancing up to Zitao. “He’s hot?”

Zitao smiles proudly, holding a hand up above his head. “He’s taller than I am, gege! And he’s blond, and he looks like a model. Here, hold on.” Zitao digs through his pocket for his phone, and Yixing is appalled to see a picture of him and Yifan at the entrance to the apartment complex. Yifan is looking magnificent, holding the door for Yixing, who looks flushed and starstruck.

“Yah, why are you taking pictures of us? Don’t be creepy,” Yixing whines. Jongdae just shushes him, waving the tongs in his face, and Yixing snatches them, heading into the kitchen where it’s quiet.

While Yixing turns the meat in the skillet, Jongdae comes up behind him and bumps him with his hip. Yixing just grumbles and refuses to raise to the bait; he’s not in the mood tonight. “I sent Zitao home,” Jongdae says. Yixing shrugs, still staring at the popping oil and golden cuts of chicken. “New Jiaheng _is_ hot. And he’s exactly your type. And Zitao said he was looking only at you, all night.”

Yixing throws the tongs down. “I don’t—he isn’t— _didi_!”

Jongdae nods sagely, though Yixing hasn’t made any sense, and he reaches over to turn the stove off. Once their food is safe from harm, he levels Yixing with a look. “Do you like him?”

Yixing holds Jongdae’s gaze for a moment, but he can’t hold it for long. He looks down at his hands and shrugs. “I don’t know.”

“Okay,” Jongdae says. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“I don’t know,” YIxing says again. He turns and sinks down to the floor, leaning back against the cupboards. “He’s… _cocky_ now. Like, he’s hot, but he’s one of those people who _knows_ it, you know? And he says all these weird things, and he always has this _look_ on his face like…like…I don’t know.”

“What kind of look?” Jongdae settles down beside him, reaching up only briefly to offer him a hot chicken tender. Yixing bites into it gratefully.

“Like, I don’t know. A pervy look,” he says when he swallows, tearing off part of the tender and passing it to Jongdae. Jongdae chews it thoughtfully, staring off at the far wall.

“Maybe he just has a pervy face?” he offers eventually. Yixing snorts.

“Maybe I don’t like his pervy face.”

“Maybe you do.”

Yixing glances at Jongdae, who’s smiling. Yixing tries to deny the accusation, but Jongdae cuts him off. “If you didn’t like him, you wouldn’t be complaining to me about him right now. Remember what happened when you broke it off when Chanyeol?”

Yixing frowns, searching his mind for the name. “No?”

“Yeah, that’s because _nothing_ happened. You just dropped him out of your life and never talked about it again. This,” Jongdae points at Yixing, “is something else.”

Yixing considers that. He doesn’t exactly remember a Chanyeol, but he does remember breaking up with a lot of people by deciding that they no longer had a place in his life. But Jiaheng— _Yifan_ —has always been different. He didn’t just have a place in Yixing’s life, he _was_ Yixing’s life when they were children. This new, strange Jiaheng doesn’t change the Jiaheng Yixing used to know. Jongdae gets up after a while and begins serving them plates, and Yixing eventually pulls himself up to set the table. Over dinner, Jongdae lets him sit in silence and think. Later, while he’s doing dishes in the kitchen alone, his phone goes off.

It’s a picture of an air mattress, and in the corner is part of Yifan’s beautiful face with a lock of his beautiful hair swept over his beautiful forehead. The caption reads, _big enough for two ♥♥_. Yixing’s heart speeds up, and then he frowns, blushing. He slides his phone down the counter, away from him, and finishes his dishes in peace.

 

Yifan texts him again in the morning, much more tamely, asking Yixing about his lunch plans during the week. Most of the time, he brings his lunch, but his studio isn’t so far from downtown that he couldn’t walk there to meet somebody and be back in time for afternoon dance classes. He plays coy because it’s safe, telling Yifan that he isn’t sure what he’s doing yet. He hopes that Yifan will proceed with caution, as most men do.

Instead, Yifan tells him, _good! come out with me on tuesday. i can pick u up, i have a car now!_

Yixing rolls his eyes, pushing his phone off of his bed and rolling over. That doesn’t last long. Much sooner than he would like, Yixing rolls back over and retrieves his phone from the carpet, typing out a sassy, _what are you even doing up rn anyways?_ before promising to himself that he’ll go back to sleep.

Yifan texts him back a selfie, in a black and white suit with a skinny tie. He’s gripping the knot like he’s loosening it, his eyes narrowed and lips puckered in the smolder. Yixing bites his lip, closes his eyes, and takes ten deep breaths before scrolling up to see the message attached. _work, baby_ , followed by an emoji wearing sunglasses. Yixing wonders if Yifan uses hair gel, because that windswept look is something out of a movie. Yixing absently reaches down to palm himself through his boxers, and then realizes that this isn’t a magazine of underwear models, this is the grown-up version of his best friend. Yixing gasps, drops the phone, drops his dick, and scrambles out of bed for a cold shower.

For the rest of the day, Yixing ignores Yifan’s texts, only giving him a quick, _go back to your job_ , before dedicating himself to creating new choreography for his students. Jongdae interrupts him mid-morning, carrying a large glass of water and his work computer. He hands Yixing the water, and settles with his laptop in the corner of the room, out of the way. Yixing downs the water, turns his music down, and sits beside him.

“Yifan asked me out to lunch,” he says when he’s caught his breath. Jongdae glances over briefly before turning back to his spreadsheet. Yixing takes that as his cue to continue. “I don’t really want to go, but I do at the same time?”

Jongdae looks up at this, one perfect brow cocked, and Yixing withers beneath the stare. “Hyung,” Jongdae starts slowly, pushing his glasses up onto his head. “It’s too early in the morning for this.”

Yixing pouts. “It’s eleven.” He crawls over to where his phone is hooked up to his speakers, and he brings it over to Jongdae. “And it wasn’t too early for him when he sent me this.” Yixing shows Jongdae the selfie, and Jongdae’s brows jump toward his hairline.

“Yah,” he exclaims, taking the phone from Yixing. “Is this really Jiaheng? Is he wearing makeup?”

Yixing frowns and leans in closer, staring down at the picture. “Di, that’s not the point. He asked me to lunch.”

Jongdae sighs and leans back against the wall, pushing his glasses back down and returning to his work. “So where are you guys going?”

“I don’t know if I want to go!”

“Yixing, you’re probably going to go, right?” Yixing shifts uncomfortably, but he doesn’t say anything. Jongdae nods. “So start thinking about where you want to go, because he might not know all the good restaurants in the city like you do.”

Jongdae is right. Yifan picks Yixing up in the studio parking lot and immediately asks him where he wants to eat. Yixing can’t speak at first because Yifan looks like an adonis, his hair swept up from his face, his perfect complexion, and—are those tattoos? Yixing squints and peers closer, and he startles when Yifan turns his head to show them off.

“Oh, I—sorry, you just—“

Yifan laughs and waves him off. “It’s fine. I get that a lot.” Yixing blushes and sits back in his seat, resolutely staring out the windshield. Yifan reaches over and places a hand on his thigh, and Yixing jumps. Yifan jerks his hand back, startled, and then laughs again. “Nervous?” Yixing wants to whimper, but he grits his teeth and doesn’t make a sound. “You haven’t told me where you want to eat.”

Yixing goes with hotpot, because hotpot is simple. It’s home, something Yifan probably hasn’t had since he left, and he’s proven right when Yifan takes his first leafy bite and melts back into his seat with a warm moan in his throat. “Oh, Yixing, you’ve won my heart. This is so good,” and he takes another bite to punctuate his declaration. His face is creased with pleasure, and he hums delightedly. Yixing sits with his chopsticks halfway to his mouth, and only when he drips on himself does he realize he’s staring.

 _help_ , he texts Jongdae under the table.

“So you said you got a job in the city?” Yixing asks after a beat of silence. It’s his resolution to actually speak during this date. Yifan, with his mouth full, just smiles and nods. “What do you do?” Yixing asks him.

Yifan swallows and smiles a winning smile, something that would look good on a billboard. True to form, Yifan says, “Modeling, mostly.”

He says it so casually that Yixing almost misses it. He’s nodding his head when it hits him, and he thinks about the picture Yifan sent him on Monday, the hair and the makeup, the early morning. “Wah, Jiaheng!” Yixing exclaims, mouth dropping open and his chopstick hand falling to the table in disbelief. “Really?”

Yifan smirks, leaning back so his shoulders look broader and he’s sort of looking down his nose at Yixing. With a tone of voice that makes Yixing want to pinch him, Yifan asks, “What, are you surprised?”

This, Yixing thinks, is why he was apprehensive about coming. He watches Yifan for a long moment in silence, remembering that this isn’t Jiaheng, and he tries not to sound as snide as he wants to when he says, “I’ll take your word for it.” Yifan laughs and touches Yixing’s shoulder; Yixing stuffs his face with another bite. Jongdae doesn’t text him back at all.

The rest of the date, if it may be so classified, is par for the course. Yixing walks back to his studio afterwards because he would rather brave the cold of December than trap himself in a small, enclosed space with that monster grown-up Jiaheng. When he gets home from work in the evening, Jongdae is waiting for him, asking cheerfully how it went. Yixing throws his beanie at him. He misses, but Jongdae understands when he’s been insulted. “Yah, what was that for?”

“You ignored my text!”

Jongdae laughs. “Oh, that? Sorry. I thought you were saying, _help! He’s so handsome! I’m being swept away and we’re getting married in the spring!_ ”

Yixing throws a shoe next. It clips Jongdae’s head, and he makes a good show of crying out and holding the site of impact. “It’s not funny,” Yixing snaps, dropping his other shoe by the door. “It was terrible. He’s so— _arrogant_. And _entitled_. And he flirted the whole time!” Yixing drops into a chair with all of his weight, ignoring the glare Jongdae is sending him. “Canada must be a terrible place. He used to be such a nice kid, I don’t understand what’s happened to him.”

“Yeah, well, people go crazy when they get hot. I mean, look at you.” Yixing is trying to decide whether that’s a compliment or not when Jongdae kicks him under the table. “And fight your own battles. You can’t throw a shoe at me because I didn’t text you back during your date. That’s _your_ business; you made that bed, so lie in it.”

Yixing sighs and drops his head onto the table. “I don’t want to lie in it anymore.” He lifts his head just enough to scowl at Jongdae. “And I threw the shoe at you because you made fun of me.”

Jongdae waves his hand dismissively. “Whatever. Did he ask you for a second date?”

“This wasn’t a date. And he said he’d text me.” Yixing’s phone has been turned off ever since. He taps his finger against the table, staring off as Jongdae starts typing at his computer again, and eventually, Yixing rises to retrieve his shoe and place it with its twin at the door. “I’m not going to lunch with him anymore.”

“What about dinner?” Jongdae asks, ever the stickler for technicalities.

“No,” Yixing says, and just to make sure he doesn’t miss anything, he says, “Nothing. Not a single event where we will be alone together. I’m done.” Yixing’s put his foot down. Jongdae watches him for a moment with a mysterious smile, but he says nothing. Yixing despairs over his poor choice of friends and roommates and rises to return to his choreography.

 

 _come to the park with me today_ , is the text Yixing wakes up to the next morning. It’s early, the sun still reluctant to rise, so Yixing rolls over and closes his eyes and expects to fall back asleep very easily. _The park_ , Yixing thinks lazily. Yifan wants to go to the park. His eyes fly open and he rolls over suddenly, reading the text again. There is no question about which park, though there are many in the city. There has only ever been _the_ park.

The park where Yifan and Yixing used to play as children. Where they would run and chase, swing when they were tired, climb as one to the top of the jungle gym, and cross narrow balance beams with their hands clasped together. In the field, they would throw baseballs back and forth or stare up at the clouds. It’s the park they were playing at when Yifan proposed to Yixing, setting to light the affection that bothers him even now.

Yixing chews his lip and tries to bolster his resolve. He’s done with Yifan. But if Yifan still remembers the park, then perhaps there’s still a piece of little Jiaheng in him somewhere. Hesitantly, Yixing types out, _what time?_ and stares at the words for a long while before sending them. He pulls the covers up over his head and groans. This is supposed to be a light day, with his only classes in the morning. The last thing he needs is to subject himself to Yifan.

But at one o’ clock, an hour and a half after the end of his class, Yixing is sitting on a bench in the old park, watching children too young for school at play. Their mothers are scattered around, gathered in gossipy congregations, watching their children with hawklike eyes. Yixing smiles and remembers his own childhood here, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen years ago. He takes a deep breath and sighs. Maybe this was a good idea after all.

And then Yifan shows up, bare-faced and well dressed and still looking so angelic that Yixing has to physically steel himself against his attraction to the man who used to be his best friend. Yifan smiles at him as he approaches, dropping down onto the bench beside Yixing with a practiced grace. His long legs sprawl so perfectly and easily, Yixing wouldn’t be surprised to look up and find a photography aiming a camera at him.

“Sorry if I kept you waiting,” Yifan says to start.

“You didn’t,” Yixing tells him, looking back to the playground. Yifan quiets, and when Yixing glances over at him, he’s watching the children as well, something sentimental and soft in his features. Yixing flicks his eyes away before he can be caught.

“Why don’t we walk?” Yifan suggests after a few minutes like this, Yixing glancing at him every so often and looking away when Yifan looks back. Yifan stands and then turns to offer his hand to Yixing, who debates on whether or not to take it until Yifan grabs his hand and pulls him up, eliminating the choice. “Don’t be shy,” he says with a low, short laugh. Yixing is both flustered and insulted by it.

When they walk, Yifan keeps so close to Yixing’s side that their arms brush continually; Yixing fights it at first, shying away, but it happens so often that eventually, he gives in and lets Yifan do what he wants. What Yifan wants to do is hold Yixing’s hand, so Yixing lets him, squeezing Yifan’s fingers when he smiles down at him. This is what he wanted. This makes up for lunch and the ride from the airport and the fifteen years that separated them. Just holding Jiaheng’s hand.

“Do you remember this?” Yifan asks him when they’ve walked awhile. He slows to a stop, pulling Yixing close to him. “When we played house, and we got married?”

Yixing’s heart flutters. He looks around—that was right here. He recognizes the nearby tree line, how the lush overhang of branches had been their home. In fact, it was very close to where they’re standing on this path that Yifan got down on one knee and—

Yifan genuflects, smiling up at Yixing. “And I proposed to you right here— _Zhang Yixing, will you marry me?_ ”

Yixing is speechless. He’s almost certain his mouth is hanging open. He stands there in silence, Yifan holding his hand and staring up at him expectantly. Yixing doesn’t know what to say. The longer he stands there, the wider Yifan smiles, amusement dancing in his eyes, and Yixing scowls. People are staring, and Wu Yifan is laughing at him. He shoves at Yifan’s shoulder, but he’s too sturdy to knock over. “Yifan!” he exclaims angrily, pulling his hand away. Sure enough, Yifan laughs, rising slowly from his knee until he’s towering above Yixing once more.

“Why do you only call me Yifan when you’re mad at me?” he laughs, reaching out to wrap his arm around Yixing’s shoulders. Yixing pushes him away.

“Because it’s a good name to shout,” Yixing snaps, turning back to the path. Yifan has to jog to keep up with him, and as much as he wants to pull away, Yifan continues to bump their shoulders together; Yixing is powerless to stop him.

When Yixing gets home late that afternoon, Zitao is sitting on the kitchen counter, Jongdae feeding him something from a wooden spoon. Lu Han, standing at the counter, glances up from the pepper he’s cutting, and then back down, a mischievous smile on his lips. Yixing hesitates; that smile has never meant good things for him before. He sets his dance bag down at the door and ambles forward, making himself known.

“You were gone a long time,” Lu Han says. Jongdae and Zitao look up, realizing that Yixing is there. “Extra classes?”

Yixing sighs. He’s done this to himself, he supposes, by being friends with these terrible people. He’s lost the energy to fight it anymore, in the same way that he’s lost the energy to fight Yifan over what he’s become. He takes a seat on the counter beside Zitao, and tells them, “I went to the park with Yifan.”

Lu Han’s eyes widen and his mouth drops in surprise; it’s clear that he hadn’t expected Yixing to admit it so easily. He glances towards Jongdae, who’s watching Yixing, but Zitao is the one who finally speaks. “Did you have fun?”

Yixing just shrugs. “He made fun of me. And he kept bumping into me.”

“How’d he make fun of you?”

“He—“ Yixing cuts off, biting his lip, trying to decide how to explain it. His face heats up when he thinks about Yifan down on one knee, looking up at Yixing with hope and adoration in his eyes. And then asking that stupid question, the same question he’d asked seventeen years ago in a game— _will you marry me?_ Yixing’s stomach clenches uncomfortably to think that it’s still just a game to Yifan, who had laughed at him so easily. “It, just—you know. He…” Yixing huffs. “Asked me to marry him.”

Lu Han laughs. “Are you sure he wasn’t serious?”

“ _Ge_!” This is why Yixing didn’t want to say anything.

“I’m sure he was just playing with you, ge,” Zitao offers, smiling hopefully. “He really seemed to be interested when we picked him up.”

“Yeah,” Jongdae jumps in. “I’ll bet he’s all over you. _Bumping into you_. Come on, Yixing.” Yixing scoffs at him, but he doesn’t have an answer to that. Jongdae offers him a bite of food form the skillet, and Yixing sticks his tongue out at him before taking it.

“I’ll bet you two look really cute together,” Lu Han comments at last, passing his peppers over to Jongdae. Yixing, thankfully, has his mouth full and is not able to say what he’s thinking at that moment.

 

As Christmas draws closer, Yifan’s texts become more frequent and insistent. Yifan’s persistence is effective, as are his selfies. Yixing succumbs so much more easily these days. All he wants is for things to go well with Yifan, and the more opportunities he gives his old friend, the more times things seem to go right. It doesn’t stop Yifan from messing it up, but Yixing can’t seem to hold it against him like he wants to.

So on the night of the twenty-third, when Yifan has been asking Yixing to come over for dinner for the past week, Yixing puts on a nice sweater, gels his hair to the side, and takes a cab. It’s the first time he’s been over to Yifan’s apartment since that first night, and when Yifan lets him in, he’s shocked by how full and warm it is. There are paintings on the walls, furniture filling the large rooms, and in the very back, Yixing can see the edges of a Christmas tree.

“Your apartment is so nice,” he exclaims, eyes wide as he wanders around.

“I’m glad you like it,” Yifan says with a smile, sounding like he is genuinely glad. Yixing smiles up at him shyly, his heart fluttering at Yifan’s happiness. Yifan ruins the moment when he winks and says, “Why don’t I show you the bedroom?”

Yixing groans and pushes him away, wandering back towards the kitchen. “What are we eating?”

Yifan sighs, accepting Yixing’s change of subject, and he leads Yixing over to the oven to show him two steaks, and then goes through the vegetables slow-cooking on the stovetop. “We’ve got time before the food is ready,” Yifan tells him, and Yixing looks up at him. It could be a simple observation, but with the way Yifan is watching him, it feels more like a suggestion. Yixing mouth works dumbly, and finally Yifan cuts him off with a smooth chuckle. “Why don’t I get you something to drink?”

He pours two glasses of wine, and by the time Yixing has almost finished his, Yifan is pulling out the steaks and leading Yixing to the dining room where he is seated and left with a promise that Yifan will be serving him tonight. He watches Yifan go, wondering how this man, this _god_ , this unbelievable catch can be so perfect and polite in one moment, and then so crude and tempting in the next. He only hates it for how it confuses him; he doesn’t think he should want Yifan, all of Yifan, as much as he does.

Dinner is simple, but good. Thankfully, it passes mostly in silence and smalltalk, larger conversations too much for their occupied mouths. This, Yixing could get used to. This, he could come home to every day. It’s when they’ve finished, and Yifan leads Yixing to the kitchen to refill his wine glass that he remembers why he always thinks twice before agreeing to go out with Yifan. It’s the way he stares at Yixing, his eyes fixed on his wine-stained lips, still sweet from the red meat.

“Yah, stop looking at me,” Yixing huffs, scowling down at the floor and hoping he doesn’t look as embarrassed as he feels. He looks up when Yifan doesn’t speak, doesn’t laugh at him, doesn’t do anything, and Yixing is startled by the seriousness in his expression.

Yifan sets his wine glass to the side, leaning against the counter and leveling Yixing with a look that has him turning his face away once more. They stand in silence for a moment longer, but Yixing doesn't know what they're waiting for. Nothing about this moment is like any other they’ve had, and he wonders if this is finally the point where one of them breaks; he’s surprised that it’s Yifan. Finally, Yifan says, "You've been like this every since you picked me up at the airport, no matter what I do. Is there something wrong? Did I do something?"

Yixing glances back to Yifan, but only briefly. He doesn't have the gall to look Yifan in the face, not while they're having this talk because now he has to put into words what he’s been lamenting over in the weeks since Yifan moved back. "You've changed," he says quietly. He almost leaves it at that, but in for a penny, in for a pound; the rest spills out before he can stop it. "You're not the Jiaheng I used to know."

Yifan scoffs, and Yixing is startled by it. ”I’m not Jiaheng at all, anymore, Yixing. I have a new name, I have a new _life_ ," Yifan says, his voice insistent. As though it's so simple, Yixing should be able to understand it, but he just _doesn't_. Every time Yifan says something dumb or smiles his greasy smile, Yixing feels let down, because every time, he lets himself forget that this isn't Jiaheng. He doesn't say anything because it's not fair to Yifan; it is absolutely his own fault that he can't reconcile this new Yifan with his old friend. In the silence, Yifan continues. "Yixing, it's been fifteen years. Did you honestly think I wouldn't change?"

"This is different. You used to be so shy and sweet, and—and you're nothing like that anymore. I used to like you so much because you were such a quiet, thoughtful friend," Yixing says, though he's retreating, curling into himself and trying to escape this conversation. It hurts him to have it, to see the pain in Yifan's pretty face.

"I was shy and quiet because I hated myself," Yifan says, his voice small in the silent apartment. Yixing doesn't know what to say to that. "I never felt like I deserved you. You were so nice and outgoing and—and beautiful, I just…when we moved, I knew I wanted to change. I wanted to be _better_. This—" Yifan gestures to himself, to the long legs and the broad shoulders and those dark, dark eyes, "was supposed to be so that I could be good enough…for you."

It's so much of a confession that it terrifies Yixing. He tightens his lips and shakes his head, curling his hands into fists and looking away. "Looks aren't all of it, Yifan. You're cocky, and selfish, and—and you flirt, _all the time_. I can't—I mean, that's not something that I want in—in someone I'm…" Yixing trails off. He can't say the words. He does look up, though, and Yifan is watching him like Yixing has just slapped him.

"I only flirt with you," he says. His eyes are soft, his mouth hanging open just enough for his teeth to peek through. It's a worried look, timid and unsure, and it's very much the expression of the boy Yixing promised himself to seventeen years ago on the playground. Everything in him wants to reach out, wants to fix Jiaheng's hair and dry his tears and offer to walk him home. His heart hurts for those days.

"Jiaheng," he whispers, his throat swelled up with emotion.

Yifan's soft expression closes, and he stares hard at the ground, his mouth set in a tight, flat line. "Yifan," he corrects, breaking the spell. Yixing startles, huffing and whirling on his heel, finally retreating the way he wants to, the only way he knows how to deal with things like this. Yifan follows but doesn't say anything; Yixing swipes his coat from the hook and slips into his shoes quickly, not even listening to hear if Yifan locks the door behind him. He storms down the stairs and into the lobby, only stopping when he reaches the parking lot.

It's not the snow in the lot that deters him; it's only a short walk to the sidewalk. What stops him is the snow in the streets. It piles high, several feet, looking like it could cover him almost to his waist. Did all of this fall over the course of their dinner? Yixing’s heart sinks. He fumbles in his pocket for his phone and calls Zitao, who answers on the third ring.

"Yixing?"

"Are you snowed in?"

There's a faint rustling in the background, and then Zitao yawns out a tired, "Yeah." More rustling, and Zitao asks, sounding more awake. "Is everything okay?"

Yixing breathes. For a few seconds, he just breathes. "Yes," he says when he can. "Sorry, yes. I just…didn't know I would be snowed in tonight. I…hadn't planned on staying over…"

After a moment, Zitao says, "Oh." The line goes quiet, but it's comfortable. Zitao's presence on the phone is better than Yixing standing on the curb by himself, facing the realization that he's going to have to go back inside and face Yifan after all the hurtful things he said, and even more of the things he didn't say. "Did something happen with Yifan?" Zitao asks when it feels like the silence could stretch forever."

Briefly, Yixing considers lying. _No_ , he wants to say, _I just want to get home_. "I started a fight," he confesses instead. "I just couldn't take it anymore. The attitude, the flirting, that— _look_ on his face. He asked me what was wrong, and I just…I told him. Everything.”

Zitao hums, and then asks Yixing, "So wait, why did you go over there if you don't like him?"

Yixing frowns and shivers. He glances back at the lobby longingly, but he's not yet ready to admit defeat. "What?"

"What do you mean, _what_? You shouldn't have gone over and given him hope if you don't return his feelings." Zitao sounds sage and calm, and a little bit condescending, and it boils deep inside of Yixing, heating him against the frigid December air.

"Return his—oh, my god! Just because he walks around with bedroom eyes and makes dirty jokes all the time doesn't mean he—it doesn't mean that—Zitao, I _do_ like him, but he—!" Yixing huffs in frustration, and Zitao might be laughing on the other end.

"Oh, my god, Yixing," Zitao says, sounding amused and exasperated all at once, and especially in a way that makes Yixing want to hit him the next time they see each other. "He only makes bedroom eyes and dirty jokes for you. You need to start paying more attention."

 _I only flirt with you_. Had Yixing not noticed? He tightens his lips and the grip on his phone, staring hard at the blanketed sidewalk. He could brave it if his life depended on getting home tonight. His pants would be soaked through, his toes would be frozen, and he would definitely be at risk for hypothermia, but he could probably do it.

Yixing considers it for a few more seconds, but Zitao's silent presence looms like a conscience and in the end, Yixing deflates and admits defeat. He apologizes to Zitao, who refuses to accept it because he's not the one who deserves it. Yixing hangs up and trudges his way back inside, taking the stairs up to Yifan's apartment in a decidedly more reluctant fashion than how he came down. He approaches Yifan's door hesitantly, only knocking when he's certain that there's no other alternative.

His head hangs when Yifan opens the door. Yifan watches him in silence for a moment before stepping back to let Yixing through. "I'm sorry," Yixing says without moving. Yifan just runs a hand through his hair and shakes his head.

"I'm sorry, too," he says. "Come on, you're letting the heat out."

Obediently, Yixing enters. Yifan moves towards the kitchen, and Yixing follows him. Yifan is cleaning up their dishes; plates and knives and forks are drying on the rack. All that's left are the wine glasses. Yixing swallows and averts his eyes. Yifan works quickly, not giving Yixing the time to stew in his worry that he needs to really work himself into a hole. He offers Yixing the bedroom, and Yixing wants to refuse it but he doesn't know how. Yifan makes himself a bed on the couch; with the shortest moment of reluctance, Yixing watches him, knowing that he should be sleeping there.

After everything he said, after all of the terrible things he said about Yifan's character, Yifan still gives him the bed. Yixing tosses and turns in it. He sheds his slacks and his sweater and his nice dress socks, sleeping only in his boxers and undershirt. They twist around him as he rolls from one side to the other, never finding rest or comfort. The thought of Yifan, just in the other room, keeps his eyes open and his heart thundering. When Yixing can take it no longer, he wraps himself in the comforter and rises, tiptoeing into the living room where Yifan is fast asleep.

Yixing stops at the couch, crouching down beside Yifan and hooking his chin on the cushion. It takes him a moment in the darkness, his eyes still coming to terms with the new shapes of the living room, but he realizes that Yifan is awake, and watching him. Yixing swallows, staring back, worried that he'll be turned away, but Yifan lifts his own sheet and Yixing crawls under it towards him, comforter and all.

"I'm sorry," he whispers in the space between them, wishing that he could close that space. Yifan keeps his hands to himself, tucked into his body. Yixing longs to hold them; they're so much larger than his.

"Me too," Yifan murmurs in response, not moving from where he's holding himself away from Yixing. Yixing wonders if it's because that's what he wants, or if Yifan is doing it because he thinks it's what Yixing wants. Fortune favors the bold; Yixing reaches forward, placing his fingertips gently over Yifan's wrist.

Yifan opens to him immediately, offering his hands. Yixing takes them. They slide closer until Yixing is breathing in Yifan's exhales, their eyes almost crossed just to look at each other. Yifan moves steadily closer, and Yixing closes his eyes and tips his head up. Yifan kisses him gently, like the boy he used to be. Yixing reaches up and threads his fingers into Yifan's soft hair, unable to tell whether it's black or blond with his eyes closed. Yifan's lips are full and soft beneath his own. He flicks his tongue out, and acquiescently, Yifan opens his mouth to accept him.

They kiss for what feels like hours, their hands roaming lazily. When they part, their noses brush and their foreheads touch. Yifan clutches at the cotton undershirt, and Yixing holds onto Yifan's shoulders. Yixing rolls them so that Yifan is on his back, but Yifan knees his legs open so that Yixing is straddling him. Yixing tries to pull out of the kiss to say something about it, but then Yifan grinds up into him and Yixing forgets that he had something to say. Yifan pushes up into the kiss, licking into Yixing’s mouth, letting go of Yixing’s shirt to grab the back of his head and hold him in place.

Yixing moans freely, bucking down against Yifan’s hips, rubbing his cock against the solid expanse of Yifan’s abs. On the upstroke, their erections brush through their clothes and Yixing whines, pressing harder. Yifan pushes his free hand up beneath Yixing’s shirt, pulling it away from his body, breaking their kiss just long enough to throw it away. Bare chested, they come together once more, their teeth clicking and their tongues sliding against one another. It’s hard, but they push their boxers down: Yifan’s, to his knees; Yixing’s, with some flexible maneuvering, off to the floor.

Yifan’s skin is so hot. He feels like a furnace, practically glowing with warmth. Yixing burrows close, trying to press as much of them together as he can reach. Yifan does not oppose; he wraps his arms around Yixing’s back and squeezes him closer. “Oh, Yifan,” Yixing moans into their kiss. Yifan breaks it, peering up at him with surprise and desire in his eyes when he hears his name. The right name, Yixing realizes after a moment. He called Yifan by the right name.

Yifan sucks two fingers into his mouth and reaches around to Yixing’s ass, thrusting up against him with more fervor. Yixing startles to feel those wet fingers at his entrance, but he steels himself and accepts the first. It’s been so long since he’s been taken, but Yifan’s finger inside of him feels… _good_. Really good. Yixing rides back against it, groaning when Yifan pushes the second one in alongside the first. He reaches between their bodies, taking his and Yifan’s cocks in his hand and stroking them together. Yifan gasps, his fingers twisting inside of Yixing, making Yixing buck into his fist, and Yifan comes suddenly with a low moan.

Yixing lifts himself off of Yifan’s fingers, sliding down his body until he’s level with Yifan’s messy stomach. He looks up, seeing clearly in the darkness now, and he can see Yifan’s embarrassment and arousal clear as day on his face when he leans down to lick up Yifan’s come. He takes his time, playing in the troughs and furrows of Yifan’s abs, nosing at the coarse curls of his pubic hair, finally taking the head of Yifan’s softening cock into his mouth and sucking up the last drops. When Yixing pulls off, he smiles sweetly up at Yifan, not expecting to be hauled forward the way he is.

Yixing is straddling Yifan’s chest by the time he’s settled, breathing hard, staring down at Yifan with wide eyes. “Come here,” Yifan says, pulling Yixing’s hips forward until his cock is almost touching Yifan’s lips, pushing between them, Yifan opening for him so nicely. Yixing gasps, hips twitching forward a bit, and he startles when Yifan plunges two fingers back into him. Yixing jumps, hands curling into fists, and it’s too rough, not slick enough. He’s about to ask Yifan to take them out when Yifan curls them again, pressing against his prostate, sending sparks of pleasure up to his chest. And then he continues to press against it, massaging the area, milking Yixing for every moan and whine that Yifan can wring from him. Yifan swallows his cock down to the root, taking Yixing back into his throat, and Yixing cries out.

Yifan pulls off when he gets too loud, reaching up to stroke Yixing and smirk up at him. “God, you’re so hot,” he says, his fingers twisting inside of Yixing in a way that makes him jump. “I can’t wait to have you riding my cock.” Yixing blushes, but he can’t deny the way he’s grinding back on Yifan’s hand.

“Yifan, please,” he begs, needing to come.

“Not tonight,” Yifan tells him. Instead, he seals his lips around the head of Yixing’s cock once more, sucking just as he presses his fingers in as deep as he can reach, and finally, Yixing comes. Yifan doesn’t choke or grimace, he just swallows with a serene look on his face, working Yixing through it gently. He pulls his fingers out and supports Yixing with a grip on his hips. Yixing is heaving for breath, his entire body trembling.

When he sits back on Yifan’s chest, Yifan licks his lips and smiles up at him. “Not how I thought this night would end,” he admits. Yixing, still sitting on top of him, laughs. He laughs until he can’t laugh anymore. Yifan laughs with him, holding his hand and kissing his knuckles. Yixing spreads himself lengthwise over Yifan, who kicks his boxers away completely and pulls the blankets back up over them. “Yixing,” he says after a moment.

“Mm?”

“Do you…actually like me?”

Yixing sits up, frowning. “Yifan, I just let you finger me and suck me off. What do you _mean_ do I actually like you?”

Yifan sighs and rubs his hand up and down Yixing’s back, holding him close like he’s worried Yixing will slip away if he doesn’t. “I mean, even when you push me away and roll your eyes at me and tell me to shut up, do you still like me?”

Yixing blinks. “Oh,” he says. _He doesn’t know?_ he thinks. _Is that why he was so upset earlier?_ “Yifan,” Yixing starts slowly, intent on dispelling Yifan’s doubts, “of course I do. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”

“Liar,” Yifan laughs in relief, squeezing him. “You’re only here because you’re snowed in.”

Yixing crows his indignation. “I’m glad I’m snowed in!” he protests.

Yifan seems to find this acceptable. He pulls Yixing down until he’s once again lying cross Yifan, relaxed in his hold. Their faces are so close together now that without speaking, they both reach to resume their kisses, this time quietly, complacently, their desperation sated.

When the kisses begin to slow, they fade out, thinning into sweet pecks until the two of them are doing nothing more than breathing the same air. Yixing falls asleep like this, tucked into Yifan's arms. Yifan holds him tight so that Yixing doesn't roll off of the couch in his sleep; when Yixing wakes in the morning, his cheek is pressed to Yifan's bare chest, breathing in his deep scent. Yixing takes a long, waking breath, followed by a yawn, and he sits up slowly.

Yifan rouses only when Yixing comes back from the bathroom, having redressed, rinsed his mouth, and relieved himself. Yifan peers up from where he's sprawled out in Yixing's absence. "How'd you sleep?" he asks, his voice rough in the early hour.

"Fine," Yixing tells him, taking a seat at the very edge of the couch. Yifan reaches over, placing a hand at the small of Yixing's back, stroking his thumb back and forth as they watch one another, complacent in the silence that follows.

"Are you hungry?" Yifan finally asks when Yixing yawns and slumps, ready to fall back down to the couch in sleep. He rises, a head taller than Yixing even when they're both sitting, and Yixing sways forward into him. Yifan slides his hand around to hold Yixing close, and Yixing nods against his shoulder. Yifan squeezes. “I’ll get dressed and we can make something together.”

That sounds nice; _together_. Yixing presses a hesitant kiss to Yifan’s shoulder, unsure of where they stand now that it’s morning. Yifan gives him a quick peck on his lips as a reward for his boldness before standing and exiting to the hallway. Yixing spends this time searching the kitchen for simple things: eggs, rice, tea. Yifan joins him now in a shirt and pajama pants, and together, they cohesively create something edible and appealing. Yifan prepares their plates, and Yixing fishes out clean chopsticks and pours two cups of tea.

The sun peeks through a large window, bathing the kitchen table in a pale grayish light. It’s soft, warm, and Yixing feels calm enough in it to take the seat adjacent to Yifan rather than the one across from him. They sit close enough that their knees brush and their feet tangle, and Yifan offers his free hand to Yixing to hold.

“This is good,” Yixing says, surprised by the combination of their culinary skills. It’s been awhile since he was impressed with something he cooked, even something as simple as breakfast.

Yifan squeezes his hand and smirks, and Yixing cocks his head to the side. “Tastes almost as good as you,” he says.

Yixing sighs, pushing his plate out of the way just before dropping his head down to the table. Up above, Yifan is laughing. Yixing had been hopeful, so hopeful—but he should have known. This is the Yifan he is going to have to accept. Eventually. Right now, it’s far too early in the morning, so Yixing pushes away from the table and slips away, towards the bedroom, where his clothes are. When Yifan calls after him, still laughing, “Baby, wait!”, Yixing waves him off and mostly keeps a fond smile off of his face. 

 

Things are different after that night. When Yifan asks Yixing to lunch, Yixing goes without thinking twice about it. They always bump into each other when they walk, and neither of them pull away. Sometimes, Yifan says something dumb. Yixing learns to laugh at him. It’s…nice. Yixing stops calling Yifan _Jiaheng_ in his head. 

This isn’t Jiaheng anymore. Sometimes, Yixing can still see him in Yifan, the way his eyes will lower when someone compliments him, the way he holds Yixing’s hand like Yixing is the big kid, the way he smiles in the early morning when he has a shoot but doesn’t want to get out of bed because Yixing is laying on top of him. But Jiaheng grew up, just like Yixing did, and Yixing learns to love the way Yifan is posing most the time, and not even on purpose. How his eyes narrow when he smiles so that it looks like he’s having inappropriate thoughts. Those horrible, terrible lines that definitely do not make Yixing smile so wide that he has to hide it, lest Yifan think that saying dumb things is acceptable now.

They’re out at lunch together on a normal weekday, and Yixing is dealing with all of these things. But they don’t irritate him anymore; he smiles and rolls his eyes when Yifan blows him a kiss. “Don’t flirt while we’re eating,” he says. Yifan responds by reaching into his coat and pulling out an envelope. He slides it towards Yixing, who sets his chopsticks down and reaches for it. “What’s this?”

“A key,” Yifan says as Yixing opens the envelope and peers in. He looks up at Yifan, surprised, and asks him,

“Already?”

Yifan just shrugs. “It’s not like we didn’t get engaged when we were six.”

Yixing smiles and pulls out the key, running his thumb over the grooves. “So should I introduce you to everyone as my fiancé now?” He’s teasing, but Yifan looks contemplative. Yixing reaches across the table to swat at his wrist, and Yifan pulls away, laughing.

“Let’s start with _boyfriend_ ,” he says, his gummy smile looking more in place on Yixing’s sofa than in a magazine; it’s the smile Yixing loves the most, the one Yifan only gives to him.

“Wu Yifan, are you asking yourself out for me?”

Yifan shrugs and hooks their ankles together beneath the table. “If I waited for you to do it, I’d never be your boyfriend.”

Yixing huffs out a laugh and slides the envelope into his own coat pocket. He picks up his chopsticks and resumes lunch, playfully kicking Yifan’s feet under the table. Yifan, who has longer legs, kicks him back even after he retreats. Yixing tears off a piece of his napkin, balls it up, and throws it at Yifan. Yifan retaliates with a large ball of napkin. Their squabble escalates to stealing food, and it ends with Yixing messily smearing a bit of sauce from his lunch across Yifan’s mouth. Yifan looks so astonished that Yixing laughs, pulling him close by the back of his head.

“Let me get that,” he says, leaning forward to kiss Yifan. Yifan accepts him, their tongues tangling in the tangy kiss. When they part, Yifan settles back into his seat, a wry smirk on his face.

“ _Let me get that_?” he teases.

Yixing flushes and shrugs. “I guess you’re rubbing off on me.”

“Oh, I’d love to rub off on you.”

Yixing closes his eyes and counts to ten. When he opens, Yifan is biting back a smile. It’s a shy look, eagerness barely restrained by the taut corners of Yifan’s mouth, his teeth worrying at his lower lip. It’s so endearing that Yixing smiles back, startled when Yifan’s grin breaks loose and consumes his face. “I knew you’d find me funny one day,” he says, and Yixing just blinks.

This must be love—not pretend love, playing house and getting engaged at six years old; not a crush on somebody he knew fifteen years ago; but affection, so warm and full in his chest that he just smiles and shrugs. Maybe one day, he will find Yifan funny. Right now, Yifan’s smile is beautiful and he’s genuinely happy. Yixing _makes_ Yifan genuinely happy, and Yifan makes Yixing happy, too. So he keeps his mouth shut and smiles back.


End file.
